


Valjean, Javert, and the Great Heist of 1820something!

by Secretmellowblog



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: All Cops Are Bastards, Based on a Tumblr Post, Crack, Gen Fic, Gen Work, I love writing my favorite characters saying dumb things to each other, Other, a long shitpost. but as a Fic!, aggressively stupid, crime stories are the best stories and valjean is the best criminal, heists and fun crimes, i love javert but i want him to quit his job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27552916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secretmellowblog/pseuds/Secretmellowblog
Summary: PARTNERS IN CRIME Jean Valjean and Pere Fauchelevent pull off an incredibly stupid heist—- while BUDDY COPS Javert and Marius engage in an equally stupid attempt to stop them.Will Valjean and his convent buddy Fauchelevent, the most iconic heist team of  all time, manage to escape with their freedom? Or will the world's Worst buddy-cop team of Javert and Marius be able to put their single brain cell together long enough to stop them?(This is inspired by the subplot in the Brick where Valjean and Fauchelevent sneak Valjean into a convent by pulling off an incredibly stupid dangerous heist where Valjean is buried alive, and the brick subplot where Javert and Marius try to be buddy-cops but it doesn't work.)
Relationships: Javert & Jean Valjean, Javert & Marius Pontmercy, Père Fauchelevent & Jean Valjean
Comments: 49
Kudos: 77





	Valjean, Javert, and the Great Heist of 1820something!

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my tumblr post about Valjean and Fauchelvent being a buddy heist team: https://secretmellowblog.tumblr.com/post/627467057072603136/cheapcroissantsandpaperbacks
> 
> This is obviously a crack fic! The timeline makes no sense- there's no way Valjean/Fauchelvent could've been heist buddies at the same time as Javert and Marius were the Worst Buddy Cops. 
> 
> Also everyone's gonna be kinda ooc. Marius especially is extremely ooc--- because the timeline makes no sense, I think this fic takes place in a universe where he got more involved with les Amis earlier. He's very ooc. But honestly i don't think my javert is very ooc, because he's already such a very funny irrational character in canon

The Gardener’s Cottage in The Convent of Petit Picpus

8:00 PM

Valjean and Fauchelevent, two kind elderly gardeners, were relaxing in their quaint little cottage. A fire was crackling in the hearth.

“You don’t seem very happy tonight,” Fauchelevent remarked, using a poker to adjust the wood in the fireplace. “Is something wrong with the garden?”

“No. It’s only--there are so many men better than I am who deserve to be here more.” Valjean sighed deeply. 

“I doubt there are any men better than you.” 

Valjean handwaved that away and gazed sadly into the fire. The halo of light around his hair made him look like a grieving saint.

“And so you’re miserable here?”

“I cannot be comfortable knowing that so many good men are in need of help.” 

“Then we could help them.” 

“We could." 

“And there’s only one rational way we can help,” 

“Yes,” Valjean said firmly. “I must break into people’s houses to leave them money!”

Fauchelevent went silent and stared at Valjean. There was a lot to Unpack. 

“I was going to say ‘we could give what charity we can to the people who are asking for it and perhaps get involved in some kind of political action,’ but now!………” Fauchelevent rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Do you really think your ‘reverse-robbery’ idea will work? It sounds very risky!”

“Reverse- robbery always works.” Valjean said wisely, as if reciting a biblical proverb.

“It does?” 

“It does.”

“You’re certain?”

“I’m certain. All I have to do is pick a lock, or force a door, or climb in through a window; and then I can leave money on the table. It’s the easiest form of charity because there’s no need to have embarrassing conversations with anyone. It’s charity without confrontation. It will always go well.”

“As long as nothing goes wrong,” said Fauchelevent. “In that case, it would be terrible.”

“But nothing will go wrong.”

“If you say so! You’re a saint, and one does not question a saint. But now that you’ve told me, I’m coming with you. We should be reverse robbers together!”

“So be it.”

They did their secret convent-gardener handshake. 

“Let the reverse-robbings begin!”

\----  
TWO MONTHS LATER

The newspapers of Paris were flooded with stories of the Mysterious Reverse-Robbers— a criminal duo that broke into people’s property to leave them money. Witnesses said that one of the criminals was a folksy little guy with a limp and the other was a white-haired buff man who “looked like a dilf.” 

The robber's victims awoke to find their locks picked and their windows opened. They would look around in fright to see what was stolen-- and find that nothing had been taken, but the "robbers" had left stacks of money piled up on their tables. Other victims woke to find their gardens had also been tended and watered for them. All were overjoyed but also frightened. 

But the question on everyone’s minds was: when would the Law get involved? 

WHO could be cruel enough to stop these criminals from being kind to people??? ? WHO would be dumb enough to end their reign of charity??? What buddy-cop duo could possibly be that THOUGHTLESS?????

——

Marius Pontmercy and Inspector Javert were walking down the streets of Paris at night. 

Marius Pontmercy was a noodle who wanted to be a goth, but didn’t have the money. He had black hair and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people told him he looked like Napoleon (AN: if you don’t know who that is then get da hell out of here!!!!!!) He loved Hot Topic but he couldn’t afford to buy any of his clothes from there. Yes, he had his green coat, which almost looked black if you wore it out at night. But it just wasn’t the same.

Inspector Javert, meanwhile, was a furry. If fursuits existed in the 19th century he would’ve been wearing one that represented his fursona (a dark mysterious dog who was the son of a wolf.) Sadly fursuits did not exist in the 19th century, so Javert just wore a leather collar, grew out his sideburns so they looked like whiskers, and referred to his hands as “claws.” But it just wasn’t the same.

The goth-furry duo were on their way to the struggling bakery that they’d been told was the Reverse-Robbers’ next target.

“Do you think that we might be the bad guys here?” Marius asked, panting as he struggled to keep up with Inspector Javert’s long strides. Javert seemed as if he was trying to keep as much distance between himself and Marius as possible. Marius was finally beginning to find it rude. 

“What?”

“I said: do you think that we might be the bad guys here?”

“We’re trying to capture the men behind a string of break-ins,” Javert said without looking at Marius or slowing his pace. 

“But they’re breaking into people’s property to leave them money!”

“They’re breaking into people’s property,” Javert responded.

“My friends-- Les Amis-- were very upset when I told them I called the cops,” Marius said. “They told me a bunch of things about cops being bastards actually, and said to ask you some questions--”

“No.”

“My friends said that my father would agree—”

“No.”

Marius hadn’t wanted to do this-- but he was frustrated at how this lower-class police inspector was treating him so rudely, wasn’t even addressing him as monsieur, and now was ignoring the questions his friends had told him to ask.

Marius decided to use his trump card. 

“I’m a Baron,” he told Javert. “Baron Marius Pontmercy. I’m the grandson of wealthy royalist Monsieur Gillenormand, who owns a lot of property, including a beautiful expensive house. Do you have the authority to disobey the orders of a baron?”

Javert abruptly halted and turned to look at him. Marius skittered to a stop.

“A baron,” Javert said.

“Yes— in fact, I have my Baron Cards right here,” Marius continued nervously. It was the first time he’d ever gotten the opportunity to use his Baron cards. He awkwardly pulled the cards out of his pocket with shaking hands, trying to ignore the way Javert’s gaze seemed to be ransacking him, and spilled a couple onto the ground. He then handed one to Javert: it was a card that said “Baron Marius Pontmercy” in a fancy font.

Javert took the card in his large hands and stared at it in silence for a long time.

“As a Baron, as an authority, I order you to listen to me.”

Javert sank into his coat.

“Are you going to obey?”

Javert sank even deeper into his coat.

“As a Baron I’m ordering you to obey.”

Javert stamped his foot-- in defeat. 

“Ask away, Monsieur Le Baron,” he humbly growled. 

“Combeferre says: ‘‘Lawful neutral doesn’t exist because laws are not neutral, and do not permit you to remain neutral. Our ‘justice system’ is about punishing people for being poor and marginalized. The police exist to enforce poverty and protect the property of the privileged ruling class. Laws are not neutral— and if you choose to enforce the law you have chosen a side, and it is to side against the people our institutions hurt the most. How would you respond to that?”

Javert stared at Marius the way Leonardo da Vinci might’ve stared at a toddler who doodled over the Mona Lisa in crayon.

“What do you think?” Marius asked.

“I don’t think.” Javert responded.

“What?”

“Any ‘thinking’ outside the narrow function of my duties is useless and a fatigue. So I don’t do it.”

“You. Don’t think?”

“Thinking is rebellion. It’s irritating to have that in me.”

“Is that a healthy attitude to have towards your own inner life?”

“I don’t think about that either.”

“But If you don’t think, then I think---”

“You haven’t struck me as the kind of man who thinks.” 

“But let’s say I, as a baron, order you to think about it,” Marius said evenly. 

“Then I think you should get away from your damned rebel ‘friends’ before they infect you with whatever disease has poisoned their minds. The fact that you’ve even considered their lies proves that friendship is bad,” Javert snarled, rolling his eyes. “People are born within society or without; they are respectable or they are wretched. It’s simple.”

“And you became a police officer because you were born…...good?”

“I was born wretched-- in a gaol, the son of filthy galley-slave scum.” Javert scowled. “I am outside of society, but I guard it from other animals like me— I am a tame dog that defends its masters from the wild dogs.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Javert barked out a laugh. 

“Do you think I’m a ‘victim?’ That my family were victims?’’ Javert mocked.

Marius stared at him blankly. “Yes?”

Javert snorted.

“You were born in a prison, in poverty, your family was torn apart by the criminal justice system— I thought you were just a furry but it seems more like your tragic past has made you literally see yourself as subhuman, because you’ve had police violence directly affecting your life from the moment you were born...my friends would say that you were a victim…?””

“Ha!” Javert scoffed. “I’m warning you, if you keep believing those idiocies you’ll become a rebel.”

“Idiocies?” 

‘Yes, idiocies. The wretched can’t be “innocent victims.” I belong where I am now--and when I was a child I belonged in prison.”

“You did?”

“YES because I was a crime baby, a baby made of crime!” Javert said with utter sincerity, as if pointing out something extremely obvious. 

Marius squinted. “Combeferre didn’t mention anything about crime babies.”

“He wouldn’t,” Javert said disdainfully. 

“Now I’m starting to wonder if.”

“If what.”

“If you’re okay?”

“What.”

“Like, your emotions? I should be more worried about all the people you hurt, but right now I’m wondering about you? whether your feelings are…... okay……………….? Are you okay?”

Javert glared at Marius with such pure withering contempt that Marius felt his soul shrivel up and die.

“This is why thinking is bad,” Javert growled.

\--------  
The run-down bakery (interior)  
2:04 am

The heist had been going so WELL until now, Valjean thought bitterly. He and Fauchelevent had broken into a bakery in order to leave money on the counter. They had been about to leave out the front door…….when a police officer and his assistant suddenly appeared on the street.

They quickly ducked behind the baker’s counter, next to the loaves of bread. 

They hadn’t been spotted yet-- the police officer and his assistant seemed too busy arguing over something-- but if they didn’t escape the bakery soon it was only a matter of time.

“Oh, our heist has gone wrong! The police are after us! What’s the use of being two old men, if we are two old fools?” Fauchelevent lamented. “Who are those men looking for us out in the street?” 

“The tall Furry is Inspector Javert,” Valjean whispered back. “You remember him. From Montreuil.”

“Oh-- the man who was always glowering at people? The one who looked like a werewolf in a top hat?”

“Yes.” 

“He was always very odd!”

“He’s indescribably bizarre,” Valjean mused. “Sometimes I wonder what that man’s Deal is.”

“Well! If he’d try to arrest an angel like you, his ‘deal’ is that he’s doing things all wrong.”

“You’re far too kind.”

“No, you’re far too humble! You’re the very best of God’s men but you keep throwing all my compliments away. It’s very ungrateful.”

Valjean handwaved that away.

“Now, who’s the other man? The young one?”

“I didn’t recognize him,” Valjean said quietly. “But I feel like….If I DID know who he was, I wouldn’t like him.”

“He does have that kind of face,” Fauchelevent agreed. 

“I’m a peaceful man,” Valjean mused. “But I look at that boy’s face and think: If I did hate someone, it would be him. If I did punch someone, it would be him.”

“And if you punched him, it would be because he deserved it!” Fauchelevent said. 

Valjean scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Probably.”

“So the only way out is through the front door. But we can’t get out without being spotted by those two-- and recognized by Javert. This is quite a puzzle.”

Valjean suddenly went silent. He slowly looked over at Fauchelevent with an expression of wistful melancholy, and sighed. 

Fauchelevent realized what he was planning and crossed his arms. 

“Are you planning to turn yourself in? without even consulting me about it?”

“I’m not planning to do that,” Valjean lied.

“If you turn yourself in, I’m turning myself in with you!”

“The reverse-robberies were my idea,” Valjean said firmly. “You are innocent. It’s only right that I should receive punishment, and you should walk free- I have no right to be free. I have no right to inflict my prison upon you.”

Fauchelevent decided to use his trump card. 

“Think of your daughter, Monsieur!”

Valjean started.

“What will happen to her, if her only relation is sent to prison? With no way to access her inheritance! No one to look after her!”

Valjean paused thoughtfully. 

“You’re right. Thank you. I was being selfish.”

“Selfish?’ There you go, I was calling you too selfless and you twisted it into an insult, like you always do with my compliments. It’s very rude. I think we need to talk about these issues of yours.”

Valjean waved his hand dismissively. He was deeply afraid of confrontation and didn’t like these kinds of conversations—they were awkward and embarrassing—so he stopped listening to Fauchelevent. But not being heard is no reason for silence, so Fauchelevent continued on for some time. 

“In short—You’re the best of all God’s men, but I still worry.” Fauchelevent concluded after a while, “You came into the convent by falling out of the sky like an angel, but I imagine all that falling from heaven must hurt sometimes.”

Valjean waved his hand again. “There’s no use in talking about this.”

“In any case, we need to find a way to escape. Both of us.” Fauchelevent said. “Do you have any ideas for an escape plan?”

Valjean’s face suddenly brightened and he grinned-- he loved making escape plans. Escape plans were his favorite thing to make, even when they usually backfired horribly and left him with permanent emotional scars. Making an escape plan was like solving a logic puzzle where the prize was always a new traumatic memory.

“This will be just like escaping the convent.” Valjean said, his face lighting up the way the aurora borealis lightens up the sky in winter.

“Yes! Wait, no. That time you nearly suffocated to death.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Hm,” Fauchelevent said. “What tools do we have at our disposal?”

“We have all that we need.” Valjean said. “I prepare for every contingency. Let me empty out my pockets--”

Valjean began to pull things out of the giant pockets of his yellow coat. 

He had several wigs of various colors, a wide selection of garden tools, a knife, a rope, a coin that was actually a fake coin with a secret lockpicking contraption inside, a coin that was actually just a real coin and had no lockpicking contraption inside, more gardening tools, some dolls made of straw, extra clothes, the flower Cosette had given him that morning, a ludicrous amount of money (some of it sewn into the coat fabric), some dried-out nettles, and a single live guinea pig. 

“This is all very useful,” said Fauchelevent, scooping the guinea pig into his lap and petting it. The guinea pig squeaked.

“I always come prepared,” Valjean said wisely. 

“Now- what’s our plan?”

“We could do something where I fake my death, or where I die symbolically.”

Fauchelevent and the guinea pig both made noises of disapproval.

“Why not?”

“I mean no disrespect, but I don’t understand why all our plans have to involve you getting hurt or going to prison or dying.”

“Dying symbolically,” Valjean corrected. 

“Well then— do you have a coffin in your pockets?”

Valjean patted the pockets of his coat. He dug even deeper into them-- and pulled out a couple more wigs, a few dozen more coins, and a loaf of black bread. 

“I must have left it in my other coat,” Valjean said, sighing deeply in disappointment.

“I’m sorry.”

“It would’ve been so symbolic,” Valjean said bitterly. “Leaving an old life behind...killing off an old self….it would’ve been Meaningful. Doing a fake death every few months is basically a tradition for me at this point.” 

“I know this is very hard for you,” Fauchelevent said. The guinea pig squeaked consolingly. 

“We’ll have to come up with another plan.”

“I think I should put on a wig and talk to Javert. He might not recognize me. I could pretend to be the bakery owner, and perhaps I could convince him to come take a drink with me and then you could escape while--”

Valjean laughed. 

“Javert leaving his post for a diversion…..You’d have better luck convincing this bakery to grow legs and walk us away.”

“Are you certain?”

“Quite.” Valjean said, and then paused, unsure what to do. If he couldn’t die or fake-die to avoid confrontation— what were his options??????

Fauchelevent saw Valjean’s dismay and came up with an idea. 

“I see-- so Javert is like the dutiful gravedigger from our convent heist! The one who was so obsessed with doing his job that he nearly buried you alive!”

Valjean’s face lit up again. “Yes!”

“So it’s like we’re escaping another burial— a symbolic one this time! Javert is like a metaphorical gravedigger, too over-dutiful, trying to metaphorically bury you alive!”

“Exactly!” Valjean said happily, relieved to find out he was symbolically dying tonight.

“So we’ll have to do what we did with the dutiful gravedigger- trick him into thinking he’s made a mistake!”

“Right,” Valjean said smoothly. “And we don’t need to worry about his noodle of an assistant at all. you’ve given me an idea. I know just enough about Javert to know how we can trick him. Here’s what you should say.....”

\----------------  
————  
Run-down bakery (exterior)  
2:10 am

Javert and Marius were standing outside the bakery, still in the middle of their argument. The cobblestones glowed in the light of the moon, and the lamplight glinted on the dirty windows of the run-down bakery. The two of them had stopped talking to each other and were now taking over each other. 

“I don’t have the right to disobey a Baron. But it’s more important to respect the higher authority of—“

“Ok I know that you hate thinking and I’m not good at thinking, but I just feel like before we enter this bakery and arrest everyone there maybe we should put our single brain cell together and TRY to think this through a little more—“ Marius began. 

They were cut off when the bakery door suddenly swung open with enormous creak.

Out of the door walked a folksy looking man in a white powdered wig. The reader may have guessed that this was none other than Fauchelevent. 

Javert did not recognize Fauchelevent—partially because he only saw Fauchelevent briefly in Montreuil, partially because of the darkness, and partially because of the fancy wig. If Fauchelevent had been super buff, Javert might’ve recognized him by his unmistakably beefy muscles. But luckily Fauchelevent was not a jacked beefcake, so Javert didn’t recognize him. 

Javert opened his mouth to speak but Fauchelevent cut him off.

“What are you POORS doing here?!” Fauchelevent demanded in a very Authoritative voice.

“I’m a Baron,” Marius said quietly. No one listened to him. Javert was staring at Fauchelevent with eyes full of suspicion, like a watch dog sensing an intruder. 

“We are searching for the mysterious Reverse-Robbers. Perhaps you know them,”  
Javert said coldly.

“Reverse robbers?? You’re accusing ME of being a criminal?? Don’t you know who I am?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m a respectable bourgeois business owner!! I’m an AUTHORITY!” 

Javert stiffened. 

“Of course I am!” Fauchelevent lied. “This little bakery is just one of my many properties I was visiting tonight. I own a beautiful stone house a couple blocks away. Oh what a disgrace this is! A disgrace to YOU, I mean!”

“To me,” Javert said in a tone of incredible self-restraint.

“Imagine what they’ll say in the papers— respectable bourgeois business owner Monsieur Lambert was collared in the street by a lowly police spy who’d forgotten his place!”

Javert went silent.

“Imagine what this police officer’s conscience would say— to be a lowly police spy and collar an innocent member of the upper classes! To dare to collar your superiors! To disobey the orders of an AUTHORITY! Surely, If you have the smallest shred of doubt, you can’t proceed.”

Marius glanced back and forth between Fauchelevent and Javert. Fauchelevent’s face was full of cartoonishly exaggerated authority. Javert’s face was granite, unreadable. 

“Do you respect authority or not? Are you a police inspector….or a rebel?”

Marius looked at Javert, whose face was still unreadable. He bore all Fauchelevent’s insults with a calm level dignity, taking the blows with Spartan composure. Then he remained silent for a long time, as if ransacking his own mind. 

“Lambert is a good, respectable, middle-class name,” Javert said finally, in a tone of sincere submission and humility. “I am deeply sorry I suspected you of anything. Farewell.”

“Good riddance!” Said Fauchelevent. “It’s important to show your superiors the proper level of respect!”

Javert turned with military precision and walked away—in defeat. Marius, confused, trailed behind him. 

Javert and Marius walked in silence down the dark streets for a while, the only sound the steady rhythm of their footsteps. The night sky began to lighten as dawn approached. The stars began to vanish. 

“That Lambert man was very suspicious, but you decided he was innocent very quickly,” Marius said, finally breaking the silence.

Javert scowled.

“How did you know Monsieur Lambert didn’t do the crime? Was it detective work? Did you use powers of deduction? Did you see something no one else but you could’ve seen?”

“I saw that he was wealthy and owned property.”

Marius’s face fell.

“That’s it?”

“Of course. There’s no need for there to be more.” Javert stated with his trademark utterly sincere Wrongness. 

“You think rich people don’t do crimes?”

”I don’t think.”

“But if I ordered you to think.”

“Then I think: no, my rich privileged superiors can’t do crimes unless they’re one of those damned idiot rebels. Crimes are only for rebels and poor people.”

“Oh.”

“A wealthy property owner playing games is not a crime. Poor people existing? That’s a crime.”

“Aren’t you a poor person though?”

“Yes, but I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Ah,” Marius said. He thought it was very sad that Javert saw his own existence as a crime he needed to atone for. He wondered if he should try to help Javert with his very sad issues.

He decided not to because it would probably just give him an aneurysm. 

Marius was beginning to wonder if ….maybe…...Les Amis were right about cops being bad after all. 

——-

The Gardener’s Cottage of Petit Picpus  
5:00 am

Fauchelevent and Valjean were finally back in their cozy cottage together. Neither of them could sleep, so they decided to stay up a while longer. The fire was crackling in the hearth and the sun was beginning to rise. 

“Well, we’ve both learned a lot from our reverse robberies,” said Fauchelevent, leaning back in his cozy chair. “I learned that doing crime is fun, lying to cops is good, and Madeleine is even cleverer than I already knew he was!”

Valjean handwaved that away.

“And you learned that you don’t need to punish yourself all the time, and you can let other people protect you sometimes!”

“Hm,” Valjean said. “I didn’t learn that.”

“Well, maybe you’ll learn it one day?”

Valjean squinted skeptically.

“We have plenty of heists ahead of us, after all,” said Fauchelevent. “I think we have time.” 

——

—-

——EPILOGUE: WHERE ARE THEY NOW?—-

Javert ordered his boss to fire him for “daring to suspect a respectable property owner of a crime.” He later became a gardener. 

Marius, privileged rich white boy, finally realized that cops were bad actually. But he did still keep in contact with ex-inspector Javert and occasionally visited his garden, much to Javert’s annoyance. 

Fauchelevent lived happily ever after in Petit Picpus, coming up with capers until the end of his days.

Jean Valjean is still at large, illegally being kind to people. His current whereabouts are unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> and there's my first fic! --dabs--- Thanks so much for reading! If anyone reads this lol XD
> 
> I have no idea how coherent this is lol. Anyway, this just an overlong version of one of my shitposts at @secretmellowblog on tumblr! :D


End file.
